Mini-bars and abysses
by queerasoaks
Summary: Set the night of the National Television Awards- Emmett Scanlan's POV. Please note that this is (purely fictitious!) real person slash between Emmett Scanlan and Kieron Richardson, so if that squicks you out don't read it! In two parts. This is chapter one.


Author's note: Please keep in mind that this is real person slash (although the slash is yet to come... no pun intended!) between Kimmett (Kieron Richardson/Emmett Scanlan) from Hollyoaks. If that makes you uncomfortable in any way, I'd highly recommend giving this one a miss, but especially avoiding the second chapter.  
This ran pretty long so I decided to split it up into to parts- and left you with a tiny little cliffhanger, seeing as you're all very good at those yourselves. ;)

I really hope you enjoy this- it's my first ever go writing anything like this and I'd appreciate any and all feedback. Onto the Kimmett!feels, darlings. Enjoy.

It'd been a good night- could've been miles better but you win some you lose some. Sure, I was upset- any actor with a jot of self respect would be. It's a big deal to lose out on something like this- and Oaks lost every single year. I knew that going into this thing. I thought I'd make a difference, and I think I did- the fans have been so great to me, letting me know over Twitter that in their eyes I was the winner, and god, I couldn't be more thankful- but Oaks just hasn't got the same kind of numbers behind it as the others do, especially Corrie and EastEnders. It's just not possible that we'd have won, on any count. But we went, we represented the rest of us, and we had a good night full of drinking and mingling with other people in the industry. That always makes for a refreshing change- the same people day in day out, no matter how much I love 'em, gets my feet itchy. So tonight had been a good night- could've been better, but you win some, you lose some.

After it was done, and each of us had inhaled one too many of the poison of our choice, Kieron and Jorgie overdoing it with the vodka entirely, we piled ourselves into the limo waiting outside. We were getting the star treatment tonight from the producers- they said we deserved it after the year we'd had, and all the work we'd put in. None of us complained- the limo was probably a good idea anyway, what with Jorgie nearly sprawled across most of one seat, half passed out, mumbling something about getting vodka on her dress. We needed as much room as we could get. Anna and Jaz were staying with an actor friend in London that night, so they'd already left before us, which also freed up some space in the vehicle. Claire sat next to me, talking animatedly to Wallis and Joe, but her hand was in mine the entire journey back to the hotel, stroking her thumb over my fingers every now and again. I was grateful for it- the physical comfort felt good. Claire and I'd been friends ever since I joined the show: we'd clicked instantly, so much so that there'd been rumours about us dating, getting together, whatever you wanna call it. It'd never happened- I don't think we saw each other that way. Our relationship was maybe more like mine and Bronagh's- affectionate and a lot like siblings. What the camera saw and what the rumour mills churned out was something else entirely, but we didn't really mind. It wasn't anyone else's business either way, and it didn't affect how we felt about each other, so it didn't matter. And there in the limo on the way back to our hotel rooms, I couldn't have been more glad that Claire held my hand to let me know she was there. She hadn't really let go of it ever since they announced Alan had won, except to join in with everyone's applause, and again it hit me that I'd be leaving behind a real family in a couple of months when double B bowed out.

When we got back to the hotel, Claire and Wallis managed to get Jorgie up and functioning enough to walk into the building and up to the suite they were sharing- Nikki, Nicole and Steph were in their own suite already, having had left the after party early because Nicole wasn't feeling too well. Me, I was just glad to be back, wanted to be on my own for a little while- the night had been a big one, and the days before it had been full of hardcore Oaks filming, stunt scenes for my exit- I just needed a little down time. I walked the ladies to their suite, Claire turning to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek before closing the door behind her. I was out in the hallway on my own and finally the pressure in my head eased a little, the quiet seeping in. I checked my watch- 3:49 AM. The after party had been one big blur of alcohol and people talking, laughing, the Corrie lot celebrating, journalists with their cameras and microphones everywhere. Although the whiskey did me good at the time, now it was just highlighting the pounding in my temples and the sinking feeling in my chest. I leaned against a wall, my room only a couple of doors down; I knew there was a big chance I wouldn't win tonight, knew I'd need my space, so I'd asked the producers to book me into a separate room. Joe had done the same, which left Kieron on his own by default, although he didn't seem to mind when the arrangements were made.

A couple of minutes later the lift to my left pinged and Joe and Kieron stepped out, and I suddenly realised that I hadn't seen much of Kieron that night. Sure, we'd been sitting one mini McQueen away from each other, but at the after party he'd kept his head down, downing shot after shot with Jorgie. I'd only managed to get a glimpse of him every now and again, but being a nominee meant doing a lot of mingling with a whole bunch of other nominees, getting photos taken, doing interviews with the paps. Besides, Claire had hardly left my side the entire evening, so I didn't get much of a chance to talk to Kieron, check if he was doing alright.

Joe patted Kieron on the back, shook my hand and we congratulated each other, because fuck if it hadn't been immense just being nominated alone. We both would've liked to win, and I think even though our congratulations were verbal, our condolences to one another didn't need to be- we just knew. We said our goodnights and he went off to his room- I had the feeling he was going to get pretty well acquainted with the mini bar that night, not unlike myself. After all, it was an all expenses paid treat from the Oaks crew, and neither of us were the type of guys to refuse a free whiskey or three. I turned back to Kieron, dishevelled and looking slightly sulky, and although I'd wanted to be alone before, I didn't any more. I could use the company- his company. Kieron and I were well attuned to each other like that: he could always give me what I needed, be whoever he needed to be to help me feel better, and I think I did the same for him. We didn't need words to talk, and each others' presence seemed to have enough of a relaxing effect on us. So in less than a second, I'd changed my mind about drinking myself blind in my room by myself: the prospect of sharing a bottle of Jameson's Rarest Vintage with one of my favourite people in the world was much more appealing.

"Want a drink? Not that you need any more alcohol in ya, but hey."

Kieron snorted softly and looked hesitant for a moment, but then he nodded wordlessly. I waited for him to catch up to me, then we walked, silently, back to my room, his breathing deep and steady next to me like he was already half asleep on his feet. I curled my hand around the back of his neck as we walked into my room, helping him steady himself- he was warm, too warm, and I knew the alcohol wasn't done doing things to his body. I closed the door behind us while he slumped down none too gracefully at the foot of the bed- the producers really had treated us tonight, the room was immaculate and well decorated, cream silk and tan leather everywhere. The bed was the pièce de résistance of the room- it stood proudly, a double king sized giant with that striking tan leather headboard, taking up most of the space and most of the view from the door. And on it, somewhat disconcertingly juxtaposed, was Kieron, clothes askew, head hanging low, eyes averted downwards, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face from the dim light of the lamp I'd turned on. I walked over to the mini bar, poured us each a drink and walked over to hand his to him. He looked up with red rimmed eyes and whispered a quiet "thanks". I hadn't seen him like this since that DJ boyfriend of his, Ian, Ethan, whatever his name was, had cheated on him earlier that year, and made no effort to be discreet or at least pretend to be sorry. In all fucking honesty it had made me furious, maybe more than it should've considering I'd only met the scumbag once or twice... but it was KIERON. Loyal and funny and kind, and the last person on the planet that deserved it. And now, sitting in front of me, he looked like he had then, and it made my stomach sink.

"Hey... you alright?" I sat next to him, swishing the alcohol around in my glass, taking a sip to steady my nerves. It was probably doing me more harm than good at this point, but I couldn't watch him like this, it was making me all kinds of anxious. I inwardly kicked myself for not having found him earlier, during the after party, and silently hated myself for not spotting him being upset before. He looked up at me then, bright blue eyes, fucking intense like never before, and scoffed. "You're askin' me if _I'm_alright? They bloody robbed you tonight. You deserved that award."

It was like somebody had knocked the air out of my lungs. "Hang on, _that's_why you're upset? Jesus Christ, Kieron, I thought somethin' had happened! Eejit!" I shook my head and downed the rest of my drink, savouring the slow burn of it sliding down my throat, something that had taken some real getting used to. I needed a disconnect with reality- Kieron's eyes shining and mouth turned into a frown because of me, my inadequacy. I'd been blind to how much tonight had meant to him- how much he'd been rooting for me. Suddenly I remembered all the tweets he'd posted about me bringing home some silver, joining in with the fans to "vote oaks!", and it all hurt just that little bit extra because I'd let him down.

"I'm sorry." And I was, and it was all that came out of me. Quieter than I'd intended, too. Fuck. Kieron turned to look at me again, face incredulous, frozen like that. Then suddenly he stood up, fists balled in anger and he shouted at me, wouldn't stop, his accent getting thicker the louder he got, wildly gesturing. "I can't believe you! Why are you fuckin' apologising? You haven't done anythin' wrong, right, it's them, they bloody fixed it all. Couldn't let the underdog win, could they? Had to please the masses, give the crowd what they wanted, just 'cause we 'aven't got the same amount of people watchin' us as bloody Corrie. So why the fuck are _you_sayin' sorry?"

I stood up too, because, well, that's what you do when someone's yelling at you, ain't it? But I couldn't look him in the eye. He wasn't yelling at me, not really- he was just dealing with losing. It briefly crossed my mind that he was even more devastated than I was, even though it was me up for the award, and wasn't that strange? But I waved it away, we were on the same team here, and a win for me would have meant a win for everyone at Oaks. He was bound to be upset, and it made me all the more upset with myself for letting the lad down, disappointing one of the only people that had believed in me and supported me almost right from the instant we'd met. I hung my head, ashamed, and suddenly Kieron wasn't shouting any more. I could hear him breathing, shallow puffs because he'd worked himself right up, and then he was closer, touching my forearms, apologising for yelling. He was like that: he'd be going a million miles per hour and then suddenly snap out of it, come back down to earth, and just as you'd gotten used to him that way he'd be off again. This was one of those occasions that I was grateful for his back and forth- he was soft and quiet again, but not in the same worrying way as before. This time he was resigned to it, knew it was over and there was nothing we could do about it.

"I'm sorry. I meant everything I said though, you know that, right? You deserved that trophy more than anyone else in that arena, you. You probably deserved it more than most people in the world." And just like that he slid silently in for a hug, and I thought if there was a moment that defined who we were that'd be it. He was there, warm as fuck and pliant and leaning on me to make him feel better about our loss, whilst letting me lean on him to carry me through my own. Warm as fuck and suddenly something shifted- he wasn't just Kieron any more. He was something else. A lifeline, a lifebuoy, a fucking anchor letting me know where I belonged, and it had never clicked like this before. I gripped his waist with one arm and my hand dug gently into the back of his neck, pulling him closer and closer until I couldn't remember if the air between us, the goddamn distance, had ever even existed. His breath was sticky, muffled against my neck and he moved then, his head buried into my collarbone. He jerked, suddenly, and I realised he was crying, sobs slowly but violently wracking his skinny frame, tiny whimpers peppering the air around us.

"Hey, hey, shhh. Kieron. Please... fuck." I didn't know what else to say, and it was a first. He sniffed and moved again, pulling slightly away from me (and fuck, was I missing him because he'd moved two inches away?), brought his arm up from behind me and wiped his eyes roughly on the sleeve of his jacket. "Hey, you don't wanna get that fancy jacket all messed up with tears now, do you? Don'tcha gotta give it back to the boutique?" He sniffed again and nodded, and wouldn't look up at me, so I said, "Knowing what some people are like, they'll probably auction it off on eBay for millions just 'cause it's got your DNA on it. Like Britney, eh?" and gotcha. That did it, he chuckled slowly first, and then looked up at me, our faces inches away from each other (when did I start noticing the fucking distance between our bodies?) and smiled, a big, fat, Kieron fucking Richardson smile, eyes still shiny, face tearstained. But smiling. Just like that. And nothing had felt so good, not like this, in a long time. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach stopped, lifted, and instead something warm and molten replaced it. My fingers, still stroking the back of his neck, moved up and into his hair, short and somehow still soft, and I pulled him close, replacing the silence between us with electricity, crackling and making my fucking veins itch. He breathed, "Em..." like a warning, like a warning sign at the edge of an abyss and the only way to find out what was at the botton was to jump, but what if the bottom was cold and dark and endless, and what if it hurt? But I felt his breath on my face when he whispered my name, so fucking warm, and I knew I needed to find out what was at the bottom or else I'd never fucking sleep again, never look at him the same again.

So I jumped.


End file.
